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Which by her wildering smile he lost-
(So quickly was the wrong forgiven)
Had I not heard him, as he prest
The frail, fond trembler to a breast
Which she had doom'd to sin and strife,
Call her-think what-his Life! his Life!
Yes:-such the love-taught name-the first
That ruin'd Man to Woman gave,

Ev'n in his out-cast hour, when curst,
By her fond witchery, with that worst,
And earliest boon of love-the grave!—
She who brought death into the world
There stood before him, with the light
Of their lost Paradise still bright
Upon those sunny locks that curl'd
Down her white shoulders to her feet;
So beautiful in form, so sweet

In heart and voice, as to redeem

The loss, the death of all things dear, Except herself and make it seem

Life, endless Life, while she was near!

Could I help wondering at a creature
Enchanted round with spells so strong;
One to whose very thought, word, feature,
In joy and woe, through right and wrong,
Such sweet omnipotence heaven gave,
To bless or ruin, curse or save?

Nor did the marvel cease with her
New Eves in all her daughters came,
As strong to charm, as weak to err,

As sure of man thro' praise and blame, Whate'er they brought him, pride or shame,

Their still unreasoning worshipper-
And, wheresoe'er they smil'd, the same
Enchantresses of soul and frame,
Into whose hands, from first to last,
This world with all its destinies,
Devotedly by heaven seems cast,
To save or damn it, as they please!

Oh, 'tis not to be told how long,
How restlessly I sigh'd to find
Some one, from out that shining throng,
Some abstract of the form and mind
Of the whole matchless sex, from which,
In my own arms beheld, possest,
I might learn all the powers to witch,
To warm, and (if my fate unblest
Would have it) ruin, of the rest!
Into whose inward soul and sense

I might descend, as doth the bee
Into the flower's deep heart, and thence
Rifle, in all its purity,

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The prime, the quintessence, the whole
Of wondrous Woman's frame and soul!

At length, my burning wish, my prayer,-
(For such-oh what will tongues not dare,
When hearts go wrong?---this lip preferr'd).
At length my ominous prayer was heard
But whether heard in heaven or hell,
Listen and you will know too well.

There was a maid, of all who move
Like visions o'er this orb, most fit
To be a bright young angel's love,
Herself so bright, so exquisite!
The pride, too, of her step, so light

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Along the unconscious earth she went,
Seem'd that of one, born with a right

To walk some heavenlier element,
And tread in places where her feet
A star at every step should meet.
"Twas not alone that loveliness

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By which the wilder'd sense is caught-
Of lips, whose very breath could bless-
Of playful blushes, that seem'd nought
But luminous escapes of thought-
Of eyes that, when by anger stirr'd,
Were fire itself, but, at a word

Of tenderness, all soft became

As though they could, like the sun's bird,
Dissolve away in their own flame-
Of form, as pliant as the shoots

Of a young tree, in vernal flower;
Yet round and glowing as the fruits
That drop from it in summer's hour-
'Twas not alone this loveliness

That falls to loveliest woman's share,
Though, even here, her form could spare
From its own beauty's rich excess
Enough to make all others fair-
But 'twas the Mind, sparkling about
Thro' her whole frame-the soul brought
out

To light each charm, yet independent
Of what it lighted, as the sun

That shines on flowers, would be resplendent

Were there no flowers to shine upon'Twas this, all this, in one combin'd,

The' unnumber'd looks and arts that form

The glory of young woman-kind,
Taken in their first fusion, warm,

Ere time hath chill'd a single charm,
And stamp'd with such a seal of Mind,
As gave to beauties, that might be
Too sensual else, too unrefin'd,

The impress of divinity!

"Twas this a union, which the hand
Of nature kept for her alone,
Of every thing most playful, bland,
Voluptuous, spiritual, grand,

In angel-natures and her own-
Oh this it was that drew me nigh
One, who seem'd kin to heaven as I,
My bright twin sister of the sky---
One, in whose love, I felt, were given
The mix'd delights of either sphere,
All that the spirit seeks in heaven,
And all the senses burn for here!

Had we---but hold---hear every part
Of our sad tale---spite of the pain
Remembrance gives, when the fix'd dart
Is stirr'd thus in the wound again---
Hear every step, so full of bliss,
And yet so ruinous, that led
Down to the last, dark precipice,

Where perish'd both--the fall'n, the
dead!

From the first hour she caught my sight,
I never left her---day and night
Hovering unseen around her way,

And mid her loneliest musings near,

I soon could track each thought that lay,

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